


eggplant peach question mark

by bossymarmalade (maggie), maggie



Series: the eradication of seemingly incurable sadness [2]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, M/M, Sexting, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:01:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21575698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maggie/pseuds/bossymarmalade, https://archiveofourown.org/users/maggie/pseuds/maggie
Summary: Tommy's the manager of a liquor distribution outlet; Alfie's one of the owners of a microbrewery. Even with all that booze around they still have slow days at work. Lucky they've got mobiles and each other.
Relationships: Tommy Shelby/Alfie Solomons
Series: the eradication of seemingly incurable sadness [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1557283
Comments: 8
Kudos: 66
Collections: Sholomons Prompt Fest 2019





	eggplant peach question mark

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [boundinshallows (museme87)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/museme87/pseuds/boundinshallows) in the [Sholomons_Prompt_Fest_2019](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Sholomons_Prompt_Fest_2019) collection. 



> **Prompt:** _Modern AU. Tommy and Alfie aren't exactly good at sexting / phone sex._
> 
> Co-written with my partner in [tommyplum](https://tommyplum.tumblr.com/), John, who is the most compatible host imaginable to my symbiote madness.

**tommy**

TXT: Alfie. I'm going out of my mind.

TXT: The temp agency sent me May Carleton of all people to cover for Lizzie while she's on hols and I suspect Lizzie knew beforehand because she's left five separate towers of ancient bills of lading to be entered into the system and filed away which is impossible

TXT: And all we've got open in the back liquor fridge is raspberry sour. 

TXT: Talk to me, Alfie, cheer me up. Tell me what you're wearing. 

TXT: No, tell me what you WISH you were wearing.

\---

**alfie**

[TXT] And why is May Carleton such an affront, sweetie? Surely she’s as capable as that Lizzie of yours of rolling her eyes at you? 

[TXT] My day’s going swimmingly, thanks for asking. 

[TXT] And stay away from that bloody raspberry horror. You know what happened the last time you drank it, and I can’t get away today to fetch you out of trouble.

[TXT] But, since you’re curious, I’m wearing jeans and that leopard shirt that you hate.

[TXT] What I’d LIKE to be wearing though, is your mouth. How’s that?

\---

**tommy**

TXT: Because, Alfie, the last time she temped here was at Christmastime and I went down on her in the supply closet. 

TXT: I mean 'affront' isn't the word I'd use, more like 'awkward reminder of why I don't drink alcopop anymore'

TXT: The point isn't May's capability, she's more than, it's that Lizzie purposely left her more work than is humanly possible and it's maybe entirely because she wanted to be able to report to the agency that May didn't do all the work she was left.

TXT: Or maybe I'm overthinking.

TXT: Swimmingly? As good as all that? Have you cracked the recipe for that new seasonal lager, then?

TXT: Too late. The raspberry doesn't go as well with tea as the caramel apple did, but it'll do in a pinch.

TXT: Any chance some terrible accident concerning a boiler and a thousand pounds of mash might happen to that leopard shirt? Preferably when you're not in it, but Alfie, I really do hate it so I'm not going to be picky

TXT: Ahhh. My Mr. Solomons is in that sort of a mood right now, is he.

TXT: If I were there with you, I'd be having you with my mouth. With your back pressed up against that machine that drops the hops into the vat. 

TXT: There's a machine like that, yes? Anyhow that's where you'd be, backed up against the hop machine. Jeans around your knees, watching me suck you down. 

TXT: I've changed my mind this raspberry tastes WONDERFUL with tea

\---

**alfie**

[TXT] Oh, THAT May Carleton. Never cared for her.

[TXT] Hmph. Good on Lizzie, leaving her some work to keep her busy then.

[TXT] You? Overthinking, love? Perish the thought. 

[TXT] I was being facetious, Thomas my sweet. Ollie’s off on the sick and that seasonal lager still tastes like gingerbread piss.

[TXT] You are aware, love, that they’re not actually paying you to sample the goods, yeah? And I thought you were swearing off alcopop, lest you start sampling the help next.

[TXT] Thankfully no. It’s safe as houses right here on my back in the office. But your concern is noted and appreciated.

[TXT] Your Mr. Solomons is ALWAYS in that sort of a mood where you’re concerned, pet.

[TXT] That’s what I like to hear.

[TXT] Though you’re a bit more caught up in the machinery than I generally care for, Tommy. Focus, yeah?

[TXT] Right, that’s enough bloody raspberry. 

\---

**tommy**

TXT: Because you're horrendously jealous. It was before you and I pinned things down, Alfie. I won't be getting distracted by the temp staff again. May's a good girl.

TXT: Besides which I sent her round a bottle of that Amarula stuff as sort of an apology afterwards and forgot to take off the sample tag so she's been slightly cold to me. 

TXT: If you called it Gingerbread Piss you'd be able to make a lot of money in a very specific market. Consider it, Alfie.

TXT: Nobody takes stock of what's open in the back cooler other than me, the manager, and therefore I, the manager, can drink whatever he damn well pleases. I'm not quite an alcoholic but I'm high-functioning and that's the important thing, isn't it.

TXT: My concern is that the leopard shirt go in the bin

TXT: Mmmm. Call me 'pet' again. 

TXT: All right, all right, you win -- raspberry tea poured down the bog where it belongs. Now to get back to me sucking your cock, Alfie, I'd cup your balls in my hand and slide my mouth all the way down while you watch. Are you watching, Alfie? You'd better be watching. I don't put on this kind of a show for just anybody.

\---

**alfie**

[TXT] Oi, I’m not horrendously anything. I’m just the right and proper amount of jealous, as it happens, being your man.

[TXT] XD Well, that’s put her off, then. Even those pretty blue eyes of yours pale held up against a sample tag, love. You cheap little arsehole. xD I love it.

[TXT] A /very/ specific market. And not one I’m looking to court professionally.

[TXT] It is something, innit? Though that high functionality takes a bit of a turn depending on what you’re drinking, sweetie. 

[TXT] I see. Not for me at all, was it? In danger of industrial accidents? I’d no idea you were so shallow, Thomas.

[TXT] Pet. /My/ little pet, aren’t you?

[TXT] You’d better not. And believe me, love, I’m watching. Watching you look up at me through those long lovely eyelashes as I push my cock deeper into your mouth, making you glug a bit. You know that little noise you make… the one I like so much.

\--- 

**tommy**

TXT: Yes, dear Alfie. You should indeed be afforded all the privileges that come with being my man, intense jealousy included.

TXT: I used to be better at this. Choosing apology gifts for poorly-planned sexual encounters, I mean. I'm losing my touch.

TXT: Is it terrible that the thought of that makes me sad? I hate losing skillsets, is all.

TXT: If I read into your specific wording of not wanting to court that market PROFESSIONALLY would you accuse me of overthinking again

TXT: or should I invest in some rubber sheets

TXT: I discovered one of those flash-in-the-pan bottles of low-calorie margarita and nobody will miss it. We should drink more margarita, you and I. It's so FESTIVE

TXT: You know precisely how shallow I am, because I've told you time and time again that I didn't listen to a word you said for at least two hours when we first met because all I did was stare at your lips.

TXT: Your little pet, Alfie. Collar me and put me on your leash.

TXT: Your belt will do, in a pinch, come to think of it. I've seen the state of your dog leads. They're not chew toys, you know.

TXT: I do know that noise you get out of me when you're pushing against my tongue with your big thick cock, Alfie, I do. I'm the one making it, aren't I?

TXT: glufrgh

TXT: like that

\---

**alfie**

[TXT] Listen you, intensity is in the eye of the beholder, yeah? I’m no more jealous than I have right to be what with you sticking your tongue in the typing pool on occasion. A man likes to know that what’s his is HIS.

[TXT] Good. Lose it altogether, so far as I’m concerned. Though I can think of a very thoughtful list of gifts to be bought in case of blue balls, should you be in the market for one.

[TXT] I’m going to blame that little bout of ennui on the raspberry. For a piss-artist you really don’t waste any time going in for the maudlin, love.

[TXT] Rubber sheets might have all sorts of practical uses; who am I to say? I don’t run your household, Tommy sweetheart.

[TXT] Bring it back with you to mine tonight. I’ll cook and we’ll be properly festive, just how you want us to be.

[TXT] That’s right; you did! :D And I found that to be a very endearing admission on your part. Unsurprising, given that I am a glorious example of manhood, but endearing all the same.

[TXT] God, love, in a fucking HEARTBEAT.

[TXT] Alright, now, steady on, Cyril is just a natural chewer, yeah? And better he chew on his leads than your poncey little shoes, hm? He remembers how hurtful you got the last time. Don’t think he doesn’t.

[TXT] That noise loses a bit in the written word - but yeah, that’s it. That thick wet wonderful sound of you swallowing down all I’ve got to give you.

[TXT] But go on, what would you do next as I’m fucking that pretty face? Would you have your hand down your trousers, yet?

\---

**tommy**

TXT: At this point in the narrative, Alfie, I'm all yours. Eye of the beholder and tongue from the typing pool and whatever other scattered body parts are making you fret.

TXT: That isn't a threat to leave me high and dry when it comes to sex, is it? Because we both know how well THAT sort of threat turns out.

TXT: I come from a long line of the maudlin and mawkish. Don't make me haul out family histories of who tumbled down wells accidentally-on-purpose and who drank themselves to death in front of the homestead hearth. It's my HERITAGE, Alfie. 

TXT: Continue being mean to me and I'll find me a well and boot myself down it. See if I don't.

TXT: Melodramatic announcements also run in the family. Heritage!!

TXT: Also for God's sake Alfie be direct for once, eh? Here I'll make it easy: DO YOU WANT TO PISS IN MY MOUTH

TXT: That would btw go down better than this low-cal margarita. I'm getting a bottle of the good stuff to bring round to yours and we can be just how I want us to be with it.

TXT: I made it up to Cyril, didn't I? Took him for his walks for a sodding fortnight in the worst of the October rain. And I've got nothing against natural chewers seeing as you, my darling glorious example of manhood, share that trait with your mutt.

TXT: Hand down my trousers, yeah. Prick already hard, Alfie, from the time I first got my lips wrapped around you. Making whatever noises you want me to make, all of them for you. 

TXT: Want you to cum down my throat so I can taste you for hours after. Sometimes I think I can taste your cum for days, you know. Makes for a strange experience when Ada pops round with new baking and wants my opinion on how her mini cupcakes taste.

TXT: "Like Alfie's spunk, Ada. And white chocolate."

\---

**alfie**

[TXT] Who’s fretting? And was that so bloody hard? It’s hardly my fault that I love you, you bleeding pillock.

[TXT] Sweetie, I would /never/ threaten you with a lack of sex. I mean, let’s be reasonable, yeah? /You’re/ the one who’s basically a human-shaped cat, I’m just looking out for my own lonely interests.

[TXT] Oh yes, here we go, it’s Dylan Thomas and the Shelbys all over again, raging against the dying of the bloody light and taking their sweet sodding time doing it.

[TXT] Mean?! I’m not being mean to you, my sweet lovely boy - bite that forked tongue of yours. This is /teasing/, pet. Because your plaits are the most fun to pull. <3

[TXT] And as far as pissing in your mouth goes, I can’t say as the thought’s never crossed my mind. Have YOU ever considered it? Since you’re the one what brought it up and all. Or is it only the pish of gingerbread men that turns you on, lover?

[TXT] You’re already bloody into it? May’ll be having to pour you into a taxi before the afternoon’s out.

[TXT] But yeah, bring the good stuff. We’ll make a night of it. Just you, me, and the rubber sheets, eh?

[TXT] Seeing as you just called me your darling glorious example of manhood, and it’s made my cock just that little bit harder, I’m going to magnanimously forgive you for calling our boy a mutt.

[TXT] Christ, you know how to make me want you, Tommy. I want you here, on those bony knees of yours, right fucking now.

[TXT] Keep talking about my spunk and how much you love to taste it. You’ll be having it soon enough. Long before your next margarita, my love.

\---

**tommy**

TXT: "I love you, you bleeding pillock". Missed your calling writing Valentine's cards, sunshine.

TXT: I believe these days instead of human shaped cat we're going with bisexual, Alfie. And if you want me to stop being dreary then don't, for the love of God, tell me that you're lonely. It breaks my heart.

TXT: Don't even tease about it. Do you hear me? 

TXT: Dip my plaits in ink all you want but never that. I couldn't take it. I do love you, you bleeding pillock. Diversions into supply closets and over-imbibing of suspiciously saccharine drinks notwithstanding.

TXT: And now that we've gotten THAT out of the way, as regards my drinking your piss: I'm considering it NOW, isn't that enough? You're basically a big fucking gingerbread man yourself, Alfie, I don't see a problem

TXT: I'm stopping. I want to be sober enough to get drunk with you.

TXT: Ah, that's how it works, is it? I appeal to your vanity and you forgive me even for slandering our dog? Powerful intel to have, Mr. Solomons. You may live to regret handing me the reins.

TXT: Good, yes, that's how I want you to think of me, down on my knees for you, Alfie, I always am. Even when we're just talking or fucking texting or standing next to each other in the loo cleaning our teeth and eyefucking each other in the mirror. Know that from now on, Alfie: I'm always on my knees.

TXT: Right where I can keep control of you.

TXT: I'm going to suck you off the minute I walk through that door. 

\---

**alfie**

[TXT] You’re not a hearts and flowers sort of lad though, are you, my sweet?

[TXT] I’m sorry, pet. I’m not really lonely. Hand on heart, yeah? No teasing at all. I’ve got you, and I know it. No matter how I natter on.

[TXT] Because I do love you too, Tommy.

[TXT] And now I’m left to wonder just what exactly it is that makes me a gingerbread man - and, piss notwithstanding - if that status has any impact on your addictive behaviour toward my semen? Am I sweeter than most, love? Tell me I’m the sweetest you’ve ever had. ;)

[TXT] Good. On both counts.

[TXT] As it happens, being on the receiving end of some decidedly saucy texts from my sweetheart has put me in a rather good mood. I wouldn’t go so far as to say it’s a given, but I think today it’s enough to leave me in a forgiving sort of mindset.

[TXT] Christ. That’s it. I’m calling it. We’re done for the day.

[TXT] Gather ye margaritas while ye may, mate, because I’m coming to pick you up. RIGHT FUCKING NOW.

[TXT] I’m feeling a bit out of control. 

\---

**tommy**

TXT: You've rumbled me there. I'm more of a gin and handjobs sort of lad. 

TXT: Good. You bloody better well HAD know it, that you've got me, because I've already cut the tag off you and I won't return you. 

TXT: Well, you're a gingerbread man because you've got beady eyes and a gumdrop for a mouth and a great big round head, don't you? 

TXT: And you're sweeter than any other I've ever tasted, Alfie, the sweetest of them all. Ask me to be mirror mirror any time and I'll tell you, whenever you like.

_ [ no reply for about fifteen minutes ] _

TXT: I've scored two bottles and given May instructions on closing up and she seems relieved to be rid of me. Come and get me and we'll stop for rubber sheets along the way.

TXT: Don't you worry, Alfie. I've got all the control you'll need.


End file.
